Every Man Contains Within Himself A Ghost

The Journey Is Difficult, Immense. We Will Travel As Far As We Can, But We Cannot In One Lifetime See All That We Would Like To See Or To Learn All That We Hunger To Know.

Nothing Grows Among Its Pinnacles; There Is No Shade Except Under Great Toadstools Of Sandstone Whose Bases Have Been Eaten To The Shape Of Wine Glasses By The Wind. Everything Is Flaking, Cracking, Disintegrating, Wearing Away In The Long, Inperceptible Weather Of Time. The Ash Of Ancient Volcanic Outbursts Still Sterilizes Its Soil, And Its Colors In That Waste Are The Colors That Flame In The Lonely Sunsets On Dead Planets.

After Chiding The Theologian For His Reliance On Myth And Miracle, Science Found Itself In The Unenviable Position Of Having To Create Mythology Of Its Own: Namely, The Assumption That What, After Long Effort, Could Not Be Proved To Take Place Today Had, In Truth, Taken Place In The Primeval Past.

Primitives Of Our Own Species, Even Today Are Historically Shallow In Their Knowledge Of The Past. Only The Poet Who Writes Speaks His Message Across The Millennia To Other Hearts.

If You Cannot Bear The Silence And The Darkness, Do Not Go There; If You Dislike Black Night And Yawning Chasms, Never Make Them Your Profession. If You Fear The Sound Of Water Hurrying Through Crevices Toward Unknown And Mysterious Destinations, Do Not Consider It. Seek Out The Sunshine. It Is A Simple Prescription. Avoid The Darkness.